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The  Marble  Arch 


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Walter  eTbaher  &cq 


OOPYRIOiHT,  1®8©9  BY  WALTER  H, 


mm 


Uniformly  Bound  in  Stiff  Paper  Covers, 
Price,  50  cents  each. 


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THE  AMAZONS,  j 


I A.  W.  PINERO’S  PLAYS. 

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A Farcical  Romance  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthur 
W.  Pinero.  Seven  male  and  five  female  char- 
■ acters.  Costumes,  modern;  scenery,  an  exterior 

and  an  interior,  not  at  all  difficult.  This  admirable  farce  is  too  well  known 
through  its  recent  performance  by  the  Lyceum  Theatre  Company,  New  York,  to 
need  description.  It  is  especially  recommended  to  young  ladies’  schools  and 
colleges.  (1895.) 


THE  CABINET  MINISTER.  I 


A Farce  in  Four  Acts.  By 
Arthur  W.  Pinero.  Ten  male 
r---— and  nine  female  characters. 
Costumes,  modern  society  ; scenery,  three  interiors.  A very  amusing  piece,  in- 
genious in  construction,  and  brilliant  in  dialogue.  (1892.) 


DANDY  DICK.  I 


THE  HOBBY  HORSE.  I 


LADY  BOUNTIFUL.  I 


A Farce  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthur  W.  Pinero. 
Seven  male,  four  female  characters.  Costumes,  mod- 
ern ; scenery,  two  interiors.  This  very  amusing  piece 
was  another  success  in  the  New  York  and  Boston  theatres,  and  has  been  ex- 
tensively played  from  manuscript  by  amateurs,  for  whom  it  is  in  every  respect 
suited.  It  provides  an  unusual  number  of  capital  character  parts,  is  very  funny, 
and  an  excellent  acting  piece.  Plays  two  hours  and  a half.  (1893.) 


A Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthur 
W.  Pinero.  Ten  male,  five  female  char- 
acters. Scenery,  two  interiors  and  an  ex- 
terior ; costumes,  modern.  This  piece  is  best  known  in  this  country  through  the 
admirable  performance  of  Mr.  John  Hare,  who  produced  it  in  all  the  principal 
cities.  Its  story  presents  a clever  satire  of  false  philanthropy,  and  is  full  of 
interest  and  humor.  Well  adapted  for  amateurs,  by  whom  it  has  been  success- 
fully acted.  Plays  two  hours  and  a half.  (1892.) 


A Play  in  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  W. 
Pinero.  Eight  male  and  seven  female  char- 
acters. Costumes,  modern ; scenery,  four 
interiors,  not  easy.  A play  of  powerful  sympathetic  interest,  a little  sombre  in 
key,  but  not  unrelieved  by  humorous  touches.  (1892.) 


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THE  MARBLE  ARCH 


A COMEDIETTA 
IN  ONE  ACT 


BY 

Edward.  Rose  & A.  J.  Garraway 

ADAPTED  FROM 

THE  “VERSUCHERIN” 

By  Von  Moser 


boston  ; 


THE  MARBLE  ARCH 


CHARACTERS. 

♦ 

Jack  Merewether,  newly  married. 

Capt.  Trentham,  in  pursuit  of  a wife. 

Marion  Merewether,  Jack's  wife. 

Constance  Cameron,  running  away  from  an  unknown  lover. 


COSTUMES. 

Marion,  in  morning  wrapper,  later  in  elegant  parlor  costume. 
Merewether,  Trentham  and  Constance,  in  walking  cos- 
tume. 


PROPERTIES. 

Letters;  writing  materials;  a white-rose  tree  with  two  white 
roses,  one  to  pull  to  pieces;  small  watering  can;  a pot  of  forget- 

me-nots. 


THE  MARBLE  ARCH. 


Scene. — A prettily  furnished  boudoir  with  doors  r.  and  l.  and 
centre  opening , with  garden  backing.  Table,  r.,  with  pens,  ink, 
and  blotting-book,  etc.;  couch  down  l. ; stand  with  pot  of  forget- 
me-nots,  r.,  small  watering-pot,  etc.;  a footstool , dower-stand,  c., 
with  a white  rose  tree,  chairs  r.  and  l. 


Mar.  ( discovered  watering  forget-me-nots  l.  of  c.  opening).  You 
dear  little  forget-me-nots!  How  thirsty  you  are  to  be  sure;  but 
you  look  very  well,  although  you  are  a twelvemonth  old.  I 
wonder  whether  Jack  will  remember  it’s  my  birthday  and  .bring 
me  another  lovely  pot  of  forget-me-nots  to-day?  If  he  does  I 
won’t  forget  you,  because  I’ve  been  so  happy  since  you’ve  been 
with  me!  There!  ( Finishes  and  crosses  to  table,  r.)  Why,  Jack 
hasn’t  opened  his  letters  this  morning!  ( Arranges  letters  on  table.) 
Oh,  how  happy  I am!  It  is  so  delightful  to  be  twenty-two  when 
you’re  married.  T never  cared  what  I was  when  I was  single. 
Let  me  see  (sits  on  couch),  I’ve  been  married  two  months  and 
three  weeks  and  I’m  twenty-two  already.  How  time  flies  w^an. 
you’re  Mrs.  Merewether;  and  how  it  crept  when  I was  Miss 
Jenkins!  Oh,  I must  write  again  to  Constance.  (Crosses  to 
table  and  sits.)  I always  do  when  my  joy  is  too  much  for  me:  so 
she  generally  gets  about  four  letters  a week.  (Writing)  “Darling 

Constance,  I am  so  happy ” But  that’s  how  I began  last  time. 

Never  mind.  I must  underline  it  all  now  to  show  how  much 
more  I mean  it!  There — there — and  there!  (Writing)  “Jack  is 
the  best  husband  in  the  world — the  kindest— -the  most  constant— the 
most ” Oh,  what  a little  goose  I am! 


Constance  appears  in  l.  doorway. 


Con. 

Mar. 

Con. 

geese. 

Mar. 


Bo! 

(starting).  Oh!  what’s  that? 

I thought  “Bo”  was  the  proper  manner  of  addressing 


(jumping  up  and  meeting  her,  c.).  Oh,  my  darling  Con- 

< nie!  I was  just  writing  to  you.  (Kisses  her.)  Why,  how  did  you 
v come  to  London? 

^ Con.  My  dear,  I’m  running  away! 

Mar.  Good  gracious!  From  what? 


4 


The  Marble  Arch* 


Con.  A husband. 

Mar.  What,  another? 

Con.  Don  t speak  as  if  I were  a Mormon,  dear.  I’ve  onlv 
had  one  weaker  half  as  yet,  and  he  is  no  more. 

Mar.  But  who  is  the  new  husband? 

Con.  I don't  know.  He’s  being  prepared  for  me.  I was  stay- 
mg  at  cousin  Sam’s — dear  old  motherly  Sam  Bildershaw,  in 
Warwickshire— when  only  this  morning  I caught  Samuel  plot- 
ting! {Goes  to  l.  h.  corner .) 

Mar.  Against  you? 

Con.  A man  was  being  brought  down  to  marry  me — me,  a 
poor  innocent  widow!  You  know  I’m  a bit  of  a campaigner. 
I ve  traveled  alone  all  over  the  Continent  since  poor  George 
died.  In  half-an-hour  I packed  all  my  traps,  said  good-bye  to 
the  conspiring  household,  bolted 

Mar.  And  came  to  me.  (Marion  sits  Constance  on  chair  bv 
table,  r.) 

Con.  Yes!  En  route  for  Nice. 

Mar.  Oh,  but  you  must  stop  here  a long,  long  time!  I have 
so  much  to  tell  you. 

Con.  ' How  much? 


Mar.  All  about  my  happiness! 

Con.  {alarmed).  Oh!  I thought  your  letters 

Mar.  Letters?  What  are  letters?  Why  see!  I was  just  writ- 
ing to  you — (Crosses  to  table) — but  I couldn’t  give  you  any  idea 
of  it;  you  see  language  is  so  inadequate  on  a subject  like  Jack! 

Con.  (reading).  “Jack  is  the  best  husband  in  the  world.”  Oh 
dear!  dear!  (Gravely,  still  reading) — “the  kindest — the  most  con- 
stant— the  most” — there  we  stop. 

Mar.  Well — what  could  I say? 

Con.  When  he’s  been  constant  for  two  months  and  three 
weeks.  True;  such  virtues  are  rare. 

Mar.  Constance,  I believe  you’re  joking.  ( Crosses  to  l.  c.) 
But  seriously — my  Jack  is  the  most  affectionate — the  dearest — 
the  charmingest 

Con.  My  dear  Marion,  shun  superlatives!  Be  as  happy  as  you 
like;  there  is  no  tax  on  happiness,  and  it  improves  the  complex- 
ion; but  remember  the  one  danger  of  the  superlative — you  can't 
get  any  further. 

Mar.  Why,  what  do  you  mean?  (Sits  on  stool  by  Constance.) 

Con.  I am  a great  traveler.  I’ve  been  up  a great  many  moun- 
tains, and  I’ve  noticed  their  ways.  You  climb  to  the  top — hope- 
ful, cheerful,  hungry  and  romantic.  The  world  lies  stretched  out 
before  you.  The  air  is  cool,  the  snow  is  white,  you  wish  you 
could  stay  there  forever — but  you  can’t. 

Mar.  ( dolefully ).  Can’t  you? 

Con.  Not  by  a long  way.  A few  minutes — and  then 

Mar.  Then? 

Con.  You  have  to  come  down  again.  By  yourself  you  would 
probably  walk  down  a grassy  slope,  and  suddenly  find  an  abyss 
yawning  in  the  rudest  way  at  your  feet.  With  a guide— an  ex- 


The  Marble  Arch, 


5 


perienced  guide,  who  has  been  down  that  hill  before — you  do  it 
by  easy  stages;  from  that  delightful,  dangerous  hilltop  to  the 
securer  plain  of  every-day  life. 

Mar.  {kneels).  But,  Constance,  you  don’t  know  my  Jack. 
Con.  My  dear,  I know  quite  enough  of  him.  I don’t  want 
to  insist  upon  his  faults;  but — he’s  a man.  One  temptation,  and 
he’s  nowhere. 

Mar.  ( rising , annoyed).  My  husband  nowhere! 

Con.  Try  him,  my  love. 

Mar.  Constance,  you — you  know  you’re  talking  nonsense. 
It  is  very  easy  to  say  “try  him.’’ 

Con.  And  almost  easier  to  do  it.  (Rising.)  Shall  I? 

Mar.  (startled).  What  do  you  mean? 

Con.  . Oh,  you’d  rather  I didn’t  put  this  perfect  being  to  the 
test. 

Mar.  You  are  quite  at  liberty  to  waste  your  time  in  any  way 
you  like. 

Con.  Then  you  defy  me?  (holding  up  a pen  to  her). 

Mar.  Oh — I 

Con.  Oh!  you  don’t  defy  me?  (putting  pen  on  table). 

Mar.  (hastily).  Yes,  I do.  But  what  are  you  going  to  write? 
( Crosses  to  Constance.) 

Con.  You  shall  see  ( sits  and  writes).  Don’t  be  afraid,  I won't 
disguise  the  hook  too  cleverly — but  he’ll  swallow  it. 

Mar.  He  won’t. 

Con.  He’s  a man.  Take  the  first  of  his  many  weak  points — 
his  vanity. 

Mar.  But  Jack’s  not  vain  ((l.  c.). 

Con.  (rises  and  comes  c.).  Very  well.  It’s  baited.  (Reads 
letter)  “Dear  Sir, — A lady  is  anxious  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, and  will  be  at  the  Marble  Arch  at  twelve  this  morning.” 
That’s  all. 

Mar.  Very  concise.  The  effect  of  practice,  I suppose.  (Crosses 
to  r.  corner). 

Con.  (down  r.).  Now,  don’t  be  ill-natured.  Oh!  I forgot — 
how  am  I to  know  him?  (Sees  rose  tree)  Ah!  He  shall  wear  a 
badge.  (Writes).  “If  you  come,  wear  a large  white  rose.”  Now 
to  address  it.  I must  make  quite  sure  that  it  shall  find  him. 
(Writes).  “J.  Merewether,  Esq.,”  and  I’ll  put  “private”  in  the 
corner.  See,  here  are  some  unopened  letters — I’ll  put  it  among 
them — you  don’t  mind? 

Mar.  Oh,  no!  it  will  be  a very  good  joke — at  your  expense. 
(Door  slams  off  r. ; crosses  l.)  Oh!  there’s  Jack;  he  always  slams 
the  hall  door,  he’s  in  such  a hurry  to  see  me.  (Crosses  to  door , l.). 

Con.  (rises).  How  touching!  But  he  mustn’t  see  me  before 
our  meeting  at  the  Marble  Arch.  How  am  I to  escape  him? 

Mar.  Through  the  garden,  if  you  really — really 

Con.  Yes,  I really — really!  I can  see  you  don’t  half  like  it, 
poor  dear;  but  you  need  the  lesson — you’re  in  a dreadful  state 
of  honeymoon.  Besides,  you  defied  me! — you’ll  see  he  won’t. 

[Exit,  c. 


The  iviarble  Arch* 

Mar.  I hate  that  girl!  I think  being  a widow  has  quite 
spoilt  her. 

Jack  ( calling  off,  l.).  Come  along,  Trentham,  this  way. 
{Entering  quickly,  L.)  Here  you  are,  my  darling. 

Mar.  My  dear  old  pet!  I am  glad  to  see  you  back,  why 
you’ve  been  away 

Jack.  An  hour  and  three-quarters  exactly. 

Mar.  He’s  kept  count,  the  darling! 

Jack.  He  has  {kisses  her). — Trentham  {shouting). 

Mar.  Oh— is  Captain  Trentham  here? 

Jack.  Yes — you’ve  heard  me  speak  of  old  Fred,  hundreds  of 
times.  That  telegram  I had  two  hours  ago  was  from  him,  say- 
ing he  would  be  at  Paddington  on  his  way  through  town,  but 
I persuaded  him  to  break  his  journey,  so  now  he’ll  see  you. 

Mar.  In  my  wrapper?  Never  {Runs  off , r.). 

Jack.  Marion!  {reproachfully). 

Mar.  Oh,  did’um  then,  did’um?  {Runs  back  and  kisses  him.) 
There!  you  must  make  that  do.  [Exit,  r. 

Jack.  Dear  little  woman!  How  poor,  solitary  Fred  will  envy 
me.  {Shouting)  Trentham!  Oh,  here  you  are  at  last. 

Enter  Trentham,  l. 

Tren.  My  dear  boy,  you  must  remember  I’m  a bachelor,  and 
can’t  afford  to  disregard  appearances.  Am  I all  right?  {Looks 
in  glass.) 

Jack.  Yes,  I think  you'll  do! 

Tren.  Well,  where’s  this  wife  of  yours?  {Sits,  l.). 

Jack.  Please  don’t  speak  of  her  in  that  casual  way.  One 
would  think  you  were  an  old  married  man. 

Tren.  No,  thanks;  I’ve  just  lost  a wife. 

Jack.  A widower? 

Tren.  No,  no,  I only  lost  her  in  the  sense  of  not  gaining  her. 
Thereby  hangs  a tale,  which  I will  unfold  afterwards. 

Jack  {going  to  table  r.,  and  opening  first  letter).  Quite  given 
her  up? 

Tren.  Yes,  quite;  only — I’m  following  her. 

Jack.  Really? 

Tren.  .Yes,  she  left  her  smelling-bottle  behind  her  at  a 
friend’s  house,  and  I said  I’d  take  it  to  her — on  the  Continent 
— out  of  politeness,  you  know. 

Jack,  {opening  Constance’s  letter).  You  'were  always  ec- 
centric, my  friend,  but  now  you’ve  come  back  from  India — 
Halloa! 

Tren.  Eh,  what’s  that?  Not  a tailor? 

Jack  {reading).  “A  large  white  rose” — “The  Marble  Arch”. 
{Crosses  to  couch , l.,  and  hands  letter  to  Trentham.)  Here,  read 
this.  I think  that  may  be  called  rather  strong. 

Tren.  {after  reading  it,  returns  it,  and  rises).  And  do  you 
mean  to  say  you’ve  no  idea  who  it’s  from? 

Jack.  I never  have  ideas — they  don’t  pay.  {Tears  letter  in 
two). 


The  Marble  Arch. 


7 


Tren.  Here,  what  are  you  doing? 

Jack.  Preparing  it  for  the  waste  paper  basket.  Marion  says 
her  papa  makes -ten  shillings  a year  out  of  his  old  letters;  so  you 
see  even  this  may  have  its  value. 

Tren.  ( taking  letter).  But — I would’nt  do  that. 

Jack.  Eh,  what  are  you  doing? 

Tren.  1 — -I  collect  autographs,  that’s  all  ( putting  it  in  his 
pocket).  There’s  a good  deal  of  character  in  that  hand. 

Jack.  I’m  afraid  there  isn’t  much  in  the  writer. 

Tren.  I should  like  to  see  that  woman  ( examining  letter).  I 
like  the  way  she  makes  her  W’s.  (Jack  goes  to  r.  of  tabie.) 

Jack.  You  don’t  suppose  I’m  going  to  let  myself  in  for  any- 
thing of  that  sort? 

Tren.  Oh,  but  you  know,  Jack,  you  should  always  look  this 
kind  of  thing  in  the  face. 

Jack.  Eh? 

Tren.  At  least — of  course  you’re  a married  man — you  should 
get  another  fellow  to  look  it  in  the  face  for  you.  Now  I — I’m 
horribly  shy — result  of  five  years  in  a solitary  up  country  station 
in  India — it’s  a perfect  affliction  to  me. 

Jack.  Ah,  you  should  get  rid  of  that. 

Tren.  Just  so!  No  use  giving  way— must  break  myself  of  it 
— now  here’s  a capital  opportunity. 

Jack.  How  do  }'ou  mean? 

Tren.  Why — why — suppose  I went  to  the  Marble  Arch  in- 
stead of  you? 

Jack.  You? 

Tren.  Yes,  just  to  see  there  was  nothing  wrong,  you  know. 
It  couldn’t  do  any  harm.  If  she  were  old  or  ugly  I could  furl 
my  rose  and  escape.  At  all  events,  I can  report  what  she’s 
like. 

Jack.  You  really  ought  to  marry,  Fred.  You’d  lose  this 
roving  spirit  then.  However,  rove  on  if  you  like;  only  remember 
I’ll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it — and  take  care  you’re  back  to 
lunch. 

Tren.  ( looking  at  watch).  By  Jove,  I shall  only  just  be  in 
time!  It  was  thoughtful  of  her  to  make  it  so  near.  Off  to  the 
Marble  Arch!  ( looking  in  glass)  Am  I all  right?  Eh?  Thanks. 

[Exit,  l. 

Jack.  Bonne  chance.  ( Goes  to  door , l.).  Oh,  men  and  women, 
what  fools  you  are.  Now,  I shall  just  have  time  to  get  those 

forget-me-nots  for  Marion.  It’s  her  birthday.  She  was  so 

delighted  with  those  I gave  her  last  year,  that  it  will  be  a 

pleasant  surprise  for  her.  My  little  wife!  I wonder  what  genius 
invented  marriage.  I should  like  to  stand  that  fellow  a drink. 

( Down  l.  c.). 

Enter  Marion  r. 

Mar.  ( surprised ).  Where’s  Captain  Trentham? 

Jack  ( putting  on  his  gloves).  Gone  for  half-an-hour.  But  he*ll 


The  Marble  Arch< 


8 

be  back  for  lunch. 

Mar.  And  I7ve  been  making  myself  nice  for  him  to  look 
at! 

Jack.  You’ll  keep,  dear.  ( Gets  hat.) 

Mar.  (aside,  looking  at  table , r.).  He’s  read  it.  Here’s  the 
empty  envelope.  (Turns  and  secs  Jack  with  gloves  on — starting.) 
Jack!  you  are  going  out. 

Jack.  Yes,  I’ve  an  appointment. 

Mar.  Oh,  but  don’t  keep  it!  (Eagerly)  Oh,  do  stay  with  me! 
I want  you. 

Jack.  My  darling,  I shall  be  back  to  lunch. 

Mar.  But  that’s  an  hour  away,  and  you’ve  been  out  an  hour 
and  three-quarters  already,  and  that  makes — oh,  I don’t  know 
what  it  makes,  but  please  stay! 

Jack.  My  dear  Marion 

Mar.  (dragging  him  to  couch).  Now,  come  and  sit  down  and 
give  me  that  horrid  hat!  I have  so  much  to  talk  about — and 
this  dear  old  seat  reminds  me  of  some  of  the  happiest  days  of 
my  life. 

Jack,  (uneasily,  looking  at  watch).  Yes,  it  reminds  me  of  them 
too — but  don’t  you  think  we  can  remember  them  just  as  well  after 
lunch?  (Gets  up  and  gets  hat). 

Mar.  Then  you  will  go  in  spite  of  my  entreaties.  Jack,  won’t 
you  tell  me  what  this  appointment  is?  (pleadingly) . 

Jack.  Oh,  that’s  my  secret.  (Marion  rises.) 

Mar.  There  should  be  no  secret  between  husband  and  wife, 
Jack. 

Jack.  This  is  a secret  which  I mean  most  particularly  to  keep 
from  my  wife,  Marion. 

Mar.  Then  you  no  longer  love  me!  I knew  it — oh,  I knew  it! 

Jack.  Hang  it,  Marion,  this  is  absurd.  Surely,  if  I choose 
to  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  a little  mystery 

Mar.  Oh!  He  calls  it  a pleasure!  (Sits  on  couch). 

Jack.  He  does.  (Aside)  Why,  I don’t  believe  that  fellow 
took  his  badge!  I’ll  run  after  him  with  it.  The  letter  said  a 
large  white  rose.  (Goes  to  rose  tree.)  Oh,  Marion,  you  won’t 
mind  my  taking  one  of  these  roses,  I suppose  (plucks). 

Mar.  (indignantly).  Take  the  tree  and  go! 

Jack.  Thanks,  I’m  not  a light  porter.  (Aside)  New  and  un- 
pleasant discovery;  there  are  two  sides  to  everything.  Even  to 
matrimony  and  Marion!  [Exit,  L. 

Mar.  (starting  up).  He’s  gone!  He’s  left  me  in  tears  for  a 
stranger!  Oh,  mamma  was  right,  all  men  are  alike.  I wonder 
if  papa  left  her  after  two  months  and  three  weeks,  and  rushed 
off;  no,  I don’t  think  he  could  have  done  that,  his  gout  was 
always  so  bad.  Oh,  what  shall  I do?  I must  write  to  somebody, 
and  I can  never  trust  that  faithless  Constance  again.  A husband 
and  friend,  gone  at  once — and  gone  together!  But  they  gen- 
erally do  that — I know!  I’ll  write  to  mamma.  (Goes  and  sits 
at  table).  I will  leave  this  house  at  once,  and  for  ever,  ana  go 
home  to  her.  But  how  shall  I begin? — wit*h  the  end?  (Writes) 


The  Marble  Arch. 


9 


Dearest  Mamma, — Jack  is  false !”  There,  now  I’ll  tell  my  maid 
to  pack  up.  I’ll  ring.  ( Getting  up  sees  Constance,  who  runs  in, 
L,.  laughing.) 

Con.  Marion! 

Mar.  Constance! 

Con.  My  dear,  I can’t  tell  you  what  fun  it’s  been. 

Mar.  I hardly  see  the  joke. 

Con.  He’s  delightful.  I congratulate  you  heartily.  I had  no 
idea  your  taste  was  so  good.  ( Sits  on  sofa.) 

Mar.  He’s  a monster,  (r.  corner.) 

Con.  No — no — you  do  yourself  an  injustice.  Now  listen. 

Mar.  ( crossing  to  c.).  I don’t  want  ever  to  hear  his  name 
again. 

Con.  But  I want  to  talk — and  when  I want  to  talk  I do. 

Mar.  Yes,  I’ve  noticed  that. 

Con.  I’d  hardly  got  there  when  I saw  my  gentleman  ap- 
proaching, with  a large  white  rose  in  his  buttonhole. 

Mar.  Ugh!  ( tearing  off  a rose  from  tree). 

Con.  He  saw  I was  looking  at  him,  and  as  he  came  up  he 
eyed  me  all  over 

Mar.  ( going  to  her , sharply).  And  you  let  him? 

Con.  I liked  it.  (Marion  crosses  to  r.  corner.)  Then  he 
bowed — he  has  such  a particularly  graceful  bow 

Mar.  ( coming  down).  Why  didn’t  you  marry  him  yourself? 

Con.  My  dear,  if  you  had  only  given  me  the  chance!  Well, 
he  said  “I  believe  I am  here  in  accojdance  with  your  wish” — 
and  then 

Mar.  Then! 

Con.  For  the  first  time  I realized  that  I didn’t  in  the  least 
know  what  to  do.  I got  hot,  and  I got  red,  and  I never  felt  so 
uncomfortable  in  my  life. 

Mar.  I dare  s-ay  he  was  comfortable  enough. 

Con.  Oh,  of  course  you  know  him.  He  has  such  perfect  tact. 
In  two  minutes  we  were  chatting  like  old  friends. 

Mar.  Really!  (Crosses  to  Constance.)  Constance,  when  are 
you  thinking  of  leaving  us? 

Con.  Well,  this  is  hospitable.  ( Rises  and  goes  to  Marion.) 
Marion,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you’re  jealous? 

Mar.  I’m  going  to  leave  London  at  once,  and  I suppose 

even  you  wo  mid  not  care  to  remain  here  alone  with 1 think 

I heard  the  hall  door. 

Con.  Was  it?  He  didn’t  slam  it  this  time. 

Mar.  ( restraining  her  sobs).  He — he’s  ashamed  of  himself. 
He  isn’t  quite  so  brazen  as  some  people  yet.  I feel  I’d  better 
leave  you  together.  In  these  cases  two  are  company  and  three 
are  none!  ( Bursts  into  tears  and  exit,  r.) 

Con.  Marion,  my  dear!  What  will  he  think  of  my  being 
here?  He  has  no  idea  that  I know  her!  Ah!  I might  punish 
this  erring  husband  for  his  misdemeanor.  ( Listens  at  door,  l.) 
Here  he  comes!  [ steals  off,  c. 


JO  The  Marble  Arch. 

Enter  Trentham,  l, 

Tren.  I’ve  seen  her!  the  rose  did  it  Rather  thoughtful  of 
Jack  to  catch  me  up  with  it;  but  why  didn’t  I ask  her  name? 
(Constance  enters  softly , c.,  and  stands  as  if  she  had  just  entered 
by  door , l.)  Bah!  I mustn’t  think  of  her.  A woman  who  could 
stoop  to  write  such  a letter!  But  what  a lovely  creature — what 

a voice — what  action — what ( Turns  and  sees  Constance,  and 

starts.)  Damn  it,  here  she  is!  You — you  haven’t  followed  me? 

Con.  To  be  quite  candid,  I have.  You  are 

Tren.  Charmed,  of  course.  At  the  same  time  it — doesn’t 
it  strike  you  that  this  is  a little  awkward? 

Con.  No — no.  (Aside)  He’s  so  deliciously  uncomfortable. 
What  a sweet  little  room  this  is! 

Tren.  Very  sweet.  I — I think  so  myself.  A nice  door  that 
(pointing  off,  l.).  But  won’t  you 

Con.  Oh,  don’t  make  any  apologies,  pray! 

Tren.  (aside).  She  seems  quite  at  home.  I wish  I was. 

Con.  (sits,  l.  c. ; dropping  her  handkerchief ).  Won’t  you  sit 
down  and  make  yourself  agreeable?  Trentham  sits  at  table,  R., 
and,  seeing  handkerchief,  picks  it  up  and  gives  it  to  Constance; 
in  receiving  it  she  drops  her  glove ; he  gives  it  to  her.  Business.) 
Thanks.  Haven’t  you  anything  to  say? 

Tren.  (aside).  This  is  too  strong!  What  on  earth  am  I to  do? 
Beat  her  at  her  own  game?  My  only  plan!  Shall  I adopt  it? 
Carried  nem.  con. 

Con.  Did  you  exhaust  your  conversation  at 

Tren.  (now  quite  at  his  ease,  places  chair  close  to  her).  The 
Marble  Arch?  Dear  old  Marble  Arch!  I shall  always  love  that 
place. 

Con.  (rather  surprised).  Oh! 

Tren.  Shan’t  you? 

Con.  I — it’s  always  been  a favorite  spot  of  mine. 

Tren.  Architecturally  or — (tenderly) — morally ?. 

Con.  Morally — (Gets  up,  and  sits  on  couch.) — quite  morally. 

Tren.  I’m  glad  of  that.  (Sits  on  chair.)  What  a sympathy 
there  is  between  us,  isn’t  there? 

Con.  Really!  (Moves  to  middle  of  couch.) 

Tren.  But  isn’t  there?  (following  her  and  taking  her  hand). 

Con.  To  a certain  extent;  but  you  must  remember  you  are  a 
married  man.  (Rises.) 

Tren.  (aside).  So  I am! — You  make  me  forget  it. 

Con.  Mr.  Merewetber!  I mean 

Tren.  You  mean  Jack — call  me  Jack.  Talking  of  marriage, 
are  you  at  all  in  that  line? 

Con.  I am  a widow. 

Tren.  So  am  I!  No,  I don’t  mean  that;  I mean,  oddly 
enough,  I always  adored  widows,  don’t  you? — (rises) no,  I don’t 
mean  that,  I mean— strange,  isn’t  it? 

Con.  Yes,  very  curious.  . 

Tren.  (aside).  She’s  getting  frightened.  Particularly  widows 


The  Marble  Arch, 


n 

with  tiny  hands,  nut-brown  hair,  dark-blue  eyes — by  the  way,  art 
your  eyes  blue  or  green? 

Con.  Sir* 

Tren.  ( aside ).  That’s  done  it! 

Con.  I never  heard  such  assurance!  (Aside)  Oh,  poor  dear 
Marion!  (Aloud)  Have  the  goodness  to  sit  over  there. 

Tren.  There?  (Tries  chair,  r.  c.,  then  l.  c.) 

Con.  There!  (Business  with  Trentham  and  chairs.) 

Tren.  Thanks.  (Aside)  How  she  gives  the  word  of  com- 
mand! I daren’t  disobey  her.  (Sits  up  r.). 

Con.  We  shall  get  on  better  now.  (Trentham  rises,  sits  on 
cduch ; business.)  You  mustn’t  be  so  restless.  (Turns  her  back  to 
him.) 

Tren.  What  a lovely  creature,  and  how  she  snubbed  me! 
I could  adore  her  even  from  this  distance;  but  I haven’t  got 
rid  of  her.  Ahem!  She’s  a little  deaf.  Perhaps  that  will  help 
to  cut  the  Gordian  knot;  I’ll  try.  (Rises  softly  and  steals  to  c. 
door.)  You’ve  got  me  into  a difficulty.  You  may  get  yourself 
out  of  it. 

Con'  You  may  go  on  talking  now. 

Tren.  Thanks!  I’ve  done!  [Exit,  c. 

Con.  I say  you  may  go  on  talking  now.  (Aside)  Has  the 
man  turned  sulky?  I really  don’t  know  what  to  do  with  him. 
(Aloud)  Have  we  discussed  the  weather  yet?  (Aside)  Dear  me, 
I am  beginning  to  wish  Marion  would  come  and  explain  every- 
thing. 


Enter  Jack,  l.,  with  pot  of  forget-me-nots. 

Jack.  There!  (puts  flowers  on  table).  Now  for  a line  of  tender 
inscription.  (Prepares  to  write ; sees  Marion’s  letter.)  What’s 
this? 

Con.  (aside).  I can  hear  he  is  getting  restless.  Well,  I won’t 
help  him. 

Jack  (reading).  “Dearest  Mamma — Jack  is  false.”  Good- 
ness gracious!  (Rises.) 

Con  (aside).  Oh,  I can’t  hold  out.  Ahem! 

Jack  (aside).  Oh,  Marion’s  there.  Well,  I won’t  make  the 
first  advance!  Ahem!  (Bends  over  flowers). 

Con.  (aside).  I give  it  up!  (Crosses  to  Jack.)  Are  you 
writing  a message  to  me?  (He  turns  round  quick.)  Oh!  A 
strange  gentleman!  How  did  you  get  here? 

Jack.  How  did  you  get  here? 

Con.  Oh,  I beg  your  pardon. 

Jack.  Don’t  mention  it. 

Con.  You  see,  I am  an  intimate  friend  of  Mrs,  Mereweather’s, 
so  I happened  to  be  here. 

Jack.  I see;  yes. 

Con.  You  know  her,  too,  of  course? 

Jack.  Slightly.  I am — my  name  is  Mere  weather 

Con.  Oh — a brother-in-law,  I suppose? 


a OF  ILL  LIB, 


Tne  xVi^i*bk  Axch, 


i2 

Jack  (mystified).  Brother-in-law? 

Con.  Yes — I mean — a brother  of  my  friend’s  husband. 

Jack.  I think  there  is  some  mistake.  I have  no  brother,  and 
this  is  my  house. 

Con.  Your  house!  Oh,  it  can't  be! 

Jack.  I can  show  you  the  lease,  if  that  will  be  any  satisfac- 
tion. 

Con.  But  if  you  are  Mr.  Merewether,  I ought  to  know  you. 

Jack.  Does  that  follow?  (Puzzled,). 

Con.  No — no — but  the  gentleman  who  was  here  just  now 

Jack.  Eh?  Oh,  I expect  you’ve  seen  Fred,  an  old  friend  of 
mine. 

Con.  What — and — and  he  pretended — oh,  that  I should  have 
made  such  an  utter  fool  of  myself!  Then  he  was  laughing  at 
me  all  the  time.  Oil!  oh!  (fainting). 

Jack.  The  woman’s  going  to  faint.  (Catches  her).  Here,  I 
say,  you  mustn’t  do  that,  you  know.  Now  be  calm.  I don’t 
know  what  you’ve  been  doing,  but  I’m  sure  it  isn’t  anything  par- 
ticular. 

Enter  Marion,  r.,  seeing  them.  Jack  pushes  Constance,  l. 

Mar.  Oh!  Now  I can  believe  my  eyes! 

Con.  No — no — indeed  you  can’t!  It’s  quite  a mistake. 

Jack.  Marion! 

Mar.  Don’t  touch  me!  (Crosses  to  c.). 

Con.  I’ll  explain 

Mar.  Don’t  touch  me! 

Jack  (down  l.).  My  dear  girl 

Mar.  I’m  not  your  dear  girl,  I’m  only  your  wife — your  neg- 
lected, betrayed  wife. 

Con.  But  listen 

Jack.  Yes,  listen — I’ll 

Mar.  I won’t!  Oh,  you  two  wicked  people.  One  of  you  is 
as  bad  as  the  other — and  worse!  You  led  him  astray,  and  he 
followed  you  astray — out  of  my  sight!  Let  me  never  see  you 
again.  Go,  go  both  of  you — to — to  the  Marble  Arch.  (Rushes 
out.  r.,  followed  as  far  as  door  by  Jack). 

Jack.  Eh?  you  led  me  astray? 

Con.  Oh,  I confess  everything.  It’s  been  all  my  fault.  I 
wrote  that  letter 

Tack  ( crosses , l.).  What,  the  “Marble  Arch” — “the  large 
wh'te  rose”?  Then  my  wife  knows  all  about  it? 

Con.  Of  course!  Do  you  think  I should  have  dared? 

Jack.  And  do  you  think  I should?  No;  it  was  Fred  who 
went  instead  of  me. 

Con.  Oh,  what  must  he  think  of  me?  (Sits  on  couch.) 

Enter  Trentham,  c. 

Tren.  Has  she  gone?  (Sees  her)  No!  (About  to  escape.) 


The  Marble  Arch,  13 

Jack  ( detaining  hint).  It’s  all  right,  old  man;  we’ve  both 
been  mystified. 

Tren.  Both?  ( About  to  run  off.) 

Jack.  Yes;  my  wife  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  joke  herself. 

Tren.  (amazed).  Your  wife? 

Jack.  Now,  I think  I’ll  be  off  to  Marion  to  make  an  explana- 
tion, and — (sees  flowers) — happy  thought!  I’ll  take  these  as  a 
peace  offering.  (Takes  dowers  and  crosses  to  door,  r.)  Poor  o.d 
Fred!  [Exit,  r. 

Tren.  (aside).  ITis  wife! 

Con.  I feel  that  I owe  you  a full  explanation. 

Tren.  Pray  don’t  trouble — I know  everything. 

Con.  (surprised).  Everything?  How? 

Tren.  From  your  husband! 

Con.  My  wnat? 

Tren.  Your  husband. 

Con.  (aside).  Now  he  takes  me  for  the  wrong  man’s  wife! 

Tren.  It  was  a dangerous  joke,  though.  Do  you  know  I 
very  nearly  fell  in  love  with  you  myself,  Mrs.  Merewether?  No, 
I don’t  mean  that. 

Con.  How  very  dreadful 

Tren.  Ch,  it’s  just  my  luck.  Why,  only  this  morning  a 
friend  of  mine  in  Warwickshire  had  found  a charming  widow 
for  me  to  marry.  Now,  what  do  you  think  she  did? 

Con.  I’ve  no  idea.  I don’t  know  what  widows  generally  do 
in  Warwickshire. 

Tren.  She  bolted — to  Nice.  I had  a telegram  at  nine  o’clock 
this  morning  saying,  “No  go.  Better  luck  next  time.”  And 
you  see  it’s  been  worse  luck  next  time,  Mrs.  Merewether.  No — 
I don’t  mean  that. 

Con.  I’m  very  sorry.  Might  I ask  her  name? 

Tren.  Constance  Cameron.  (Constance  starts.)  Do  you 
know  the  lady? 

Con.  Particularly  well.  They  say  she’s  a little  like  me. 

Tren.  Then  she  must  be  lovely — no,  I don’t  mean  that — 
yes  I do.  She  left  her  smelling-bottle  behind  her,  and  I’m  just 
going  to  run  over  to  Nice  with  it,  and  leave  it  at  her  door. 

Con.  Indeed?  Would  it  be  troubling  you  too  much  to  ask 
you  to  take  her  a letter  from  me? 

Tren.  (eagerly).  The  trouble  would  be  rapture.  (Drawing 
back).  I don’t  mean  that.  (Constance  sits  r.  of  table,  and 
commences  to  zvrite;  aside,  l.)  What  an  angel!  But  I’ve  noticed 
other  fellows’  wives  always  are. 

Enter  Jack,  r. 

Jack  (crossing  in  front  of  table  to  Trentham).  It’s  all  right: 
my  wife’s  satisfied.  She’s  quite  calm  now. 

Tren.  Oh,  yes,  she’s  quite  herself  again. 

Jack.  Eh?  How  do  you  know?  Have  you  seen  her,  then? 

Tren.  Have  I seen  her?  Can  I ever  forget  her? 


The  Marble  Arch. 


H 

Jack  (turns  and  sees  Marion,  who  enters  door , r.).  Then  I 
needn  t introduce  you.  Marion,  I think  you  know  this  gentle- 
man. 

Tren.  (surprised) . I don’t  know  this  lady. 

Jack.  Why,  you  jusc  said  you  could  never  forget  her.  Fred, 
this  is  my  wife. 

Tren.  (astounded) . What,  another? 

Mar.  No,  the  first. 

Tren.  I say,  Jack,  this  is  getting  past  a joke.  Is  this  really 
your  wife? 

Mar.  I really  am. 

Tren.  (pointing  to  Constance).  But  who’s  she? 

Mar.  A dear  friend  of  mine,  en  route  for  Nice. 

Tren.  (starting).  Nice! 

Mar.  (going  to  Constance).  Constance,  let  me  introduce  my 
husband  and  his  friend.  Captain  Trentham — Mrs.  Constance 
Cameron.  (Goes  with  Jack,  c.). 

Con.  (aside).  Oh,  how  hot  I feel! 

Tren.  (aside).  I should  very  much  like  to  run  away. 

Con.  Here  is  the  letter;  would  you  like  to  read  it? 

Tren.  Thanks  (taking  it;  reading),  “Dear  Constance, — You 
need  not  have  fled  so  precipitately.  Captain  Trentham  is  not 
such  a bad  fellow,  after  all.  I almost  think  that  in  time  one 
might  become  quite  attached  to  him.”  Oh,  do  you  really  mean 
it,  and  will  you  accept 

Con.  My  smelling-bottle?  Yes,  please. 

Tren.  No!  let  me  keep  it,  and  you.  Thanks  (seizing  her 
hand) . 

Jack  (coming  down).  Hulloa!  What  does  all  this  mean? 

Con.  That  great  effects  from  trifling  causes  spring! 

Tren.  A joke  the  cause 

Mar.  The  great  effect,  the  ring! 

Tren.  That  prize  to  win,  what  soldier  would  not  march 
Even  to  Nice! 

Con.  • Or  to — the  Marble  Arch! 


Curtain. 


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W.  E.  Fette,  but  employing  nothing  but  Dickens’  actual  words,  comprising 
dialogues  from  “Nicholas  Nickleby,”  “Oliver  Twist,”  “David  Copperfield,” 
“Dombey  and  Son,”  “Pickwick  P’apers,”  “Our  Mutual  Friend,”  etc.  The 
o diectionis  arranged,  in  some  instances,  so  tAat  an  extended  series  of  scenes 
from  a single  book  may  be  given,  or  the  component  scenes  given  as  separate 
short  dialogues.  Simple  and  effective. 

PRICE * 25  CENTS* 


HOLIDAY  DLALOGUES 

FROM  DICKENS. 

A Collection  of  Dialogues  and  Entertainments  compiled  and  arranged  from 
Oharles  Dickens’  famous  “ Christmas  Stories,”  by  W.  E.  Fette.  Comprising 
selections  from  “ The  Christmas  Carol,”  “ The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,”  “ The 
Battle  of  Life,”  etc.,  arranged  in  a series  of  scenes  to  he  given  either  singly  or 
together,  as  an  extended  entertainment.  As  material  for  the  stage  celebration 
of  Christmas,  Dickens’  writings  need  no  commendation.  The  spirit  of  “ peace 
on  earth  and  good  will  toward  men”  lives  in  their  lines  and  conceptions,  and 
no  better  material  can  be  found  for  this  purpose. 

PRICE  25  CENTS. 


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TtlC  MA(^KTP  ATF  f a Farce  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthur  W. 

A IV.Ln.VjJO  1 Ivn.  1 JJ*  | pINERO#  Twelve  male,  four  female  char- 

11  1 ■ — acters.  Costumes,  modern ; scenery,  all 

interior.  The  merits  of  this  excellent  and  amusing  piece,  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar of  its  author’s  plays,  are  well  attested  by  long  and  repeated  runs  in  the 
principal  American  theatres.  It  is  of  the  high’est  class  of  dramatic  writing,  and 
is  uproariously  funny,  and  at  the  same  time  unexceptionable  in  tone.  Its  entire 
suitability  for  amateur  performance  has  been  shown  by  hundreds  of  such  pro- 
ductions from  manuscript  during  the  past  three  years.  Plays  two  hours  and 
a half.  (1892.) 


THE  NOTORIOUS 
MRS.  EBBSMITH. 


A Drama  in  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  W. 
Pinero.  Eight  male  and  five  female  charac- 
ters; scenery,  all  interiors.  This  is  a “prob- 
lem ” play  continuing  the  series  to  which  “ The 
Profligate”  and  “The  Second  JVIrs.Tanquerav” 

qtiH  mtATifiAl xr  lr.t.prAfltinnr  ic  Tint  finite! 


belong,  and  while  strongly  dramatic,  and  intensely  interesting  is  not  suited 
amateur  performance.  It  is  recommended  for  Reading  Clubs.  (1895.) 


THE  PROFLIGATE.! 


A Play  in  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  VY  Ptnr- 
ro.  Seven  male  and  five  female  characters 
Scenery,  three  interiors,  rather  elaborate . 

dramatic  In 


costumes,  modem.  This  is  a piece  of  serious  interest,  powerfully  dramai 
movement,  and  tragic  in  its  event.  An  admirable  play,  but  not  suited  for 
teur  performance.  (1892.) 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  | 


A Farce  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthur 
W.  Pinero.  Nine  male,  seven  fe- 
male characters.  Costumes,  mod- 
ern ; scenery,  three  interiors,  easily  arranged.  This  ingenious  and  laughable 
farce  was  played  by  Miss  Rosina  Vokes  during  her  last  season  in  America  with 
great  success.  Its  plot  is  amusing,  its  action  rapid  and  full  of  incident,  its  dia- 
logue brilliant,  and  its  scheme  of  character  especially  rich  in  quaint  and  humor- 
ous types.  The  Hon.  YereQueckett  and  Peggy  are  especially  strong.  The  piece 
is  in  all  respects  suitable  for  amateurs.  (1894.) 


THE  SECOND 
MRS.  TANQUERAY. 


A Play  in  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  W. 
Pinero.  Eight  male  and  five  female  char- 
acters. Costumes,  modern ; scenery,  three 
interiors.  This  well-known  and  powerful 

play  is  not  well  suited  for  amateur  per- 
formance. It  is  offered  to  Mr.  Pinero’s  admirers  among  the  reading  public  in 
answer  to  the  demand  which  its  wide  discussion. as  an  acted  play  has  created. 
(1894.)  - Also  in  Cloth,  $1.00. 


^WFFT  T A VFTVJTVFP  ! A Comedy  m Three  Acts.  By  Arthur 
^ W IZJL  1 I^n.  V J-d^LAEJiv*  | w pINERO#  Seven  male  and  four  female 
" ■ — — "*  characters.  Scene,  a single  interior,  the 

same  for  all  three  acts ; costumes,  modern  and  fashionable.  This  well  known 
and  popular  piece  is  admirably  suited  to  amateur  players,  by  whom  it  has  been 
often  given  during  the  last  few  years.  Its  story  is  strongly  sympathetic,  and  its 
comedy  interest  abundant  and  strong.  (1893.) 

THE  TIMES  ! A Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  By  Arthur  W.  Pinero. 
x x i— * x xxvxx^j*  j maie  an(j  seven  female  characters.  Scene,  a single  ele- 
" L--  gant  interior ; costumes,  modern  and  fashionable.  An 

entertaining  piece,  of  strong  dramatic  interest  and  admirable  satirical  humor. 
(1892.) 

THF  WFATCFP  f A Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  By  Arthur 

1 w | iff-  pINER0.  Eight  male  and  eight  female 

““   *  1 characters.  Costumes,  modern ; scenery, 

two  interiors,  not  difficult.  This  very  amusing  comedy  was  a popular  feature  of 
the  repertoire  of  M*.  and  Mrs.  Kenaal  in  this  country.  It  presents  a plot  of 
strong  dramatic  interest,  and  its  incidental  satire  of  “Woman’s  Rights”  em- 
ploys some  admirably  humorous  characters,  and  inspires  many  very  clever  lines. 
Its  leading  characters  are  unusually  even  in  strength  and  prominence,  which 
makes  it  a very  satisfactory  piece  for  amateurs.  (1894.) 


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The  Plays  op  Henrik  Ibsep* 

Edited,  with  Critical  and  BiograpI*caI  Introduction, 
by  EDMUND  GOSSE. 

This  series  is  offered  to  meet  a growing  demand  for  the  plays  of  this  wel 
abused  and  hotly-discussed  writer,  whose  influence  over  the  contemporary  dran 
is  enormous  even  if  his  vogue  in  the  American  theatre  be  still  regrettab 
small.  These  plays  are  intended  for  the  reading  public,  but  are  recommend* 
for  the  use  of  literary  societies  and  reading  clubs,  and  somewhat  diffident: 
suggested  to  dramatic  clubs,  as  providing  unconventional  but  vigorously  act; 
ble  material.  As  a dramatist  Ibsen  is  absolutely  “ actor-tight,”  and  has  writte 
more  successful  parts  and  inspired  more  “ hits  ” than  any  of  his  more  populs 
contemporaries.  This  edition  is  printed  in  large,  clear  type,  well  suited  for  tl 
use  of  reading  clubs.  The  following  titles  are  ready. 

A DOLL'S  HOUSE.  I fr  Play  in  Them  Acts  Translated  by  Wn 
1 liam  Archer.  Three  male,  four  female  chai 
acters,  and  three  children.  Price,  25  cent t 

THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY.  I £ play  ^ fov*  a™ 

*♦,  'Translated  by  Williai 

female  characters. 

GHOSTS. 


ROSMERSHOLM. 


■ Translated  by  Williai 

— — — 1 Archer.  Ten  male,  nin 

Price,  25  cents 

A Drama  in  Three  Acts.  Translated  by  William 
Archer.  Three  male,  two  female  characters.  - 

Price,  25  cents 

A Drama  in  Four  Acts.  Translated  by  M 
Carmichael.  Four  male,  two  female  charac 
^rs*  Price,  25  cents 


JU  THE  LADY  FROM  THE  SEA.  f a drama  m fiye  acts 

V8/  I Translated  by  Clara  Bell 

~ " , Five  male,  three  femah 

\V#  characters. 

4t  AN  enemy  of  society. 


ters. 


| THE  WILD  DUCK.  | 


THE  YOUNG  MEN'S  LEAGUE. 


male,  six  female  characters. 


Sit 
Sit 

Sit  HEDDA  G ABLER. 

S\t 

Sit  THE  MASTER  BUILDER. 

Sit 

sit 


female  characters. 


Five  male,  three  f email 
Price,  25  cents 

A Play  in  Five  Acts.  Trans 
lated  by  William  Archer 
Kino  male,  two  female  charac 
Price,  25  cents 

A Drama  in  Five  Acts.  Translated  by  E 
M Aveleng.  Twelve  male,  three  female 
characters.  Price,  25  cents, 

A Play  in  Ftve  acts 
Translated  by  Henry 

1 Carstarphen.  ‘Twelve 

Price,  25  cents. 

A Drama  in  Four  Acts.  Translated  by 
Edmund  Gosse.  Three  male,  four  female 
characters.  Price,  50  cents. 

A Play  in  Three  Acts.  Trans- 
lated by  Edmund  Gosse  and  Wil- 
liam Archer.  Four  male  *bree 
Price,  50  ^ents. 


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